My Dear Watson
by DaisyGirlWrites
Summary: Joan tries to date. Holmes tries to help...or does he? Joanlock.


Sherlock and Joan were in Gregson's office, going over the latest case they had all worked on. All agreed it was a slam dunk and that the prosecutor would have no problems in getting the perp convicted. As they were talking, Sherlock noticed that Joan kept looking out of the office window, a small smile on her lips, seemingly lost in thought.

"Something wrong Watson? Are we boring you?" Holmes asked his partner.

Joan turned around to see all three men - Bell, Gregson and Holmes - staring at her. "No, nothing wrong. Are we about done here?" she asked.

"Sure," replied Gregson. "Thanks again for all your help on this..."

Before Gregson could finish, Joan was out the door, pulling her coat on and fluffing her hair a bit. She headed to the corner of the room where a young police officer was standing getting coffee.

From the door of Gregson's office, Holmes watched her head toward the officer. Before he knew it, they were smiling at each other and talking, standing quite close together. Holmes shifted uncomfortably where he stood. Gregson came up behind him and asked what was going on.

"I don't know," said Holmes, still staring at his partner and the officer. They seemed awfully cozy. "Who is that guy Watson is talking to?"

"That's the new guy, Officer Thompson. Came from the 12th precinct a couple weeks ago. Nice guy. On fast track to becoming a detective if my instincts are right."

Holmes continued to stare in Watson's direction, becoming more irritated the more Gregson talked. The next thing he knew, Watson was touching the guy's arm in a flirty manner, laughing and tossing her hair back. The officer was clearly smitten with Watson and it appeared Watson felt the same way. He started to walk toward them when Watson turned around, walking toward him.

"Hey," she said, still smiling. "Can we get out of here? I have a date tonight and I need some time to find something to wear and get ready. Do you need me for anything else today?"

"And who is the lucky man?" he asked somewhat sarcastically, hoping his tone hid his jealousy.

"I have a date with Officer Thompson. Or should I say Mike," she said with a little too much giddiness in her voice.

"Well, you're free for the day, Watson. As luck would have it, I have a little project of my own to work on. Just remembered it actually." She looked at him questioningly, one eyebrow slightly raised. She knew Holmes well enough to know he was up to something. She just didn't know what. Truth be told, however, she was more interested in getting ready for her date than questioning her partner on his plans for the day.

"Ok. I'll see you later," and with that she practically flew out of the precinct, leaving Holmes behind her, a strange look on his face as he stared after her, fingers dancing by his sides, slightly rocking on his feels. As soon as Watson was out of sight, Holmes turned and walked over to where Officer Thompson was still standing, at the coffee machine.

Holmes casually began to make himself a cup of tea (if you could call it that; he certainly didn't.)

"I see you and my partner hit it off quite nicely," he said without looking at Officer Thompson and without even introducing himself. Holmes being Holmes, he assumed everyone knew who he was.

Officer Thompson - Mike - looked over at Holmes and introduced himself, holding out his hand to shake Holmes' hand. Sherlock just stood there, looking at him, not returning the favor. Mike finally put his hand down and said "I'm Mike Thompson. I just started here a couple weeks ago. You must be Joan's partner, Sherlock. Nice to meet you."

Holmes just stared him. "Where are you two going tonight?" asked Holmes, still glaring at Mike.

Mike didn't seem to notice Holmes' attitude, or if he did, he ignored it. "I'm not sure to be honest," he said with a slight chuckle. "I've been wanting to ask Joan out since I first saw her a couple weeks ago, but I guess I never had a plan in mind for when I actually asked her out." He turned to go and then suddenly turned back to Holmes.

"Say, maybe you can help me with this. She's your partner; you must know her pretty well, right?" Holmes just stared at him, not saying a word. "Can you tell me what kind of food she likes?"

Wheels spinning his in his brilliant mind, Sherlock knew this was his opportunity. Deliberately easing the tension in his body a bit and leaning back against a nearby desk, he softened his glare a bit.

"Watson adores French food," he said to Mike.

Mike smiled at this. "Well, isn't that a coincidence. So do I. I know this great French restaurant in my neighborhood. Can you tell me what her favorite flowers are?"

Holmes smiled slightly and said "Lilies. Love them."

With that, Mike thanked Holmes and walked away, a swagger in his walk and a smile on his face. This night was going to be perfect. He just knew it.

Holmes continued to lean against the desk, a slight smile on his face, watching the man walk away. He barely noticed that Gregson was now standing behind him, tapping him on the shoulder.

"Uh, Holmes. Why did you tell Mike that Joan loves French food? Even I know she hates it. Remember my birthday party at Chez Raoul? She didn't want my wife to feel bad and tried to eat the food but anyone could see she hated it."

Without looking at Gregson, Holmes said "I forgot about that. Guess I gave Officer Thompson the wrong information."

Gregson, knowing full well that Holmes would never forget such a detail, just looked at Sherlock. "And since when does Joan like lilies? I distinctly remember her saying that lilies remind her of funerals. Remember when Bell was ordering flowers for his ex and she told him not to get lilies in the arrangement?"

Again, Holmes, still staring straight ahead, said he must have forgotten about that, too. Gregson just looked at him, shook his head, and mumbling something about Joan killing Holmes when she found out, walked away.

Still thinking about Watson and Officer Thompson, Holmes stood up with a start and practically ran out the door, looking for Mike. He finally found him at the elevators. Holmes casually walked up to him and said "Hey, Mike. Did you have any more questions about Joan? I can probably fill you in before your date. You know. Make things go more smoothly. I mean, it being your first date and all, you want to make a good impression, right?"

Mike looked at him, not believing how nice Joan's partner was. He found it hard to believe that this was the same guy that, as Joan put it, "drove her nuts".

"Well, since you offered, I was kind of wondering what kind of men she likes. You know, the type she normally dates." And with that opening, Holmes was off and running. He told Mike how Joan likes men who talk about themselves a lot because she usually spends all her time talking about herself and her unusual career. Whatever you do, said Holmes, don't ask her any questions about her family, her career or her prior relationships. He told Mike how Joan hates it when men hold the door open for her; she thinks it's an insult against all women. Women can open their own doors as far as Watson was concerned. Mike was drinking in all this information, mouth open. "Wow. I guess I had the wrong impression of her. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm still interested. But she seemed so, I don't know, the opposite of what you are saying. But I guess you know her better than anyone."

"Oh. One more thing," said Holmes. "When you pick her up at the brownstone, just blow the horn and she'll come out. She doesn't like her dates to meet me. Something about me intimidating her dates or something." With that, Holmes turned and walked away, slightly grinning.

Holmes could hear the click of Watson's high heels on the stairs. Judging by the sound, she was wearing her 4" blue heels with the skinny straps. Looking up from his chair, he saw that he was correct. She was also wearing what appeared to be a brand new dress, a deep jewel-toned blue with a slightly plunging neckline. Her hair was loose and slightly wavy, framing her face perfectly. He tried not to stare at her but couldn't help it. When he noticed her looking at him, he quickly averted his gaze.

"Watson. Going on your date I see. Where is your young man taking you?" he asked with as much feigned interest as he could muster.

"I don't know but I'm sure it'll be great. He's quite the foodie, you know. He's been to the top restaurants in the city since moving here a year ago." She continued to fix her hair and check her makeup in the small compact mirror she carried. "Don't wait up for me. I'm sure we are going to paint the town red," she said with a little giggle. Holmes rarely heard her giggle and the sound made his heart jump a beat. He continued to surreptitiously stare at her while pretending to watch the seven television sets in front of him.

The sound of a car horn broke his reverie. It also made him smile. Seems Officer Thompson took his advice to heart. Watson walked over to the window and looked out. Sure enough, there was Mike, sitting in his car. Another honk of the horn and this time Holmes almost laughed out loud.

"What the hell?" asked Watson, mostly to herself.

With a third blast of the horn, Holmes couldn't help himself. He got up, and standing directly behind Joan at the window, leaned in close behind her and whispered in her ear. "Seems your young man doesn't have any manners, Watson. Are you sure you still want to go on this date?"

Watson could feel Holmes' warm breath on her neck and ears and shivered slightly. Without realizing it, she leaned back a little, touching Holmes' body just slightly, but just enough to feel his body stiffen.

Holmes reaction to Watson leaning against him was electric. Before he realized what he was doing, he put his hands on each side of her, just above her hips. He leaned in again and whispered "Are you sure you don't want to stay home with me and work on a cold case? I assure you, Watson, you will have much more fun."

Joan heard the words but could only think about his hands on her, how close he was to her and his husky whisper as he leaned in close. She quickly turned and brushed past him. "Of course I'm sure. I mean, what girl would want to sit home and look at pictures of crime scenes when she could be out having a great night with a nice guy?" She wasn't sure if she was asking Holmes this or trying to convince herself.

With that, Watson grabbed her wrap and walked out the front door, leaving Holmes to stare out the front window. He watched her as she approached the car. She stood at the passenger door for a few seconds, obviously waiting for Mike to get out and open the door for her. After realizing that this was not happening, she got in the car herself and slammed the door shut. With a slight grin, Holmes turned away from the window. Student Mike took his lesson to heart.

Ninety minutes later, Holmes heard the front door open and slam shut. Not looking up from the gruesome crime scene photos he had spread before him on the floor, he said "Well, Watson, that was a short date. Things not go well?" he asked innocently.

She didn't say anything. She threw her wrap on the hook in the hallway and flung her heels off near the stairs. She then went to the kitchen, still ignoring Holmes. After a few minutes Holmes followed her and leaned against the doorway to the kitchen, arms folded, watching her. She filled the tea kettle with water and slammed it on the stove, back toward Holmes, still not saying a word. She continued to stare at the kettle.

"Don't you know Watson? A watched pot never boils." When this didn't get a reaction, he pushed himself off the doorframe and walked into the kitchen, close to where Watson was so he was almost facing her now, and he leaned against the counter next to the stove. "Something wrong Watson? Date didn't go well?"

"It was a disaster, if you must know." With that, she went to the kitchen table and sat down in one of the only two kitchen chairs they owned. She put her head in her hands. "First, as you saw, he HONKS his horn when he picks me up. What man honks his horn for his date? He didn't even get out of the car to open the door. Then, he presents me with a bouquet of lilies. Lilies! The one flower in the world that I detest. What are the chances? "

"Indeed," said Holmes, shaking his head in sympathy. The kettle was whistling now so he reached over and served Watson her tea, the whole time listening and nodding as she went on about her bad date.

"The whole ride to the restaurant, he talks about himself. Doesn't ask how I am, nothing. We finally get to the restaurant - a **French** restaurant if you can believe it. I didn't want to hurt his feelings so I tried pick the least objectionable item on the menu and ate as much as I could."

Holmes, still listening, should have been feeling bad about all this but was surprisingly amused by his partner's tale of woe. He moved to a chair at the table and, arms, folded, listened sympathetically to Watson, shaking his head from time to time to show his support.

"...and do you know he never once asked me anything about me or my life! All he did was talk about himself! I've never anyone so self-centered in my life. And that is saying a lot considering I live and work with you, " she said pointedly, looking straight at Holmes. He pretended to be hurt by that comment.

She continued to go on and on about how bad the date was. "...and you know what the kicker was? He asked me to pay half the check!"

Holmes had to hold his smile in check. Not only did Officer Thompson take his advice to heart, he even added a little extra something by having Watson pay half the check. Brilliant. He underestimated Officer Thompson's ability to think on his feet.

"I don't know what's wrong with me Sherlock. I don't know why I can't find anyone. Are all the good ones taken? Because it sure feels like that." Watson finally took a sip of the tea and let out a sigh. Now Holmes was starting to feel a little bad about his involvement in her "date from hell". Only a little bit, however.

Looking at Sherlock, she asked what he was doing while she was out. With that, he grabbed her hand and pulled her into the living room. Waving his hand across the pictures and files on the floor, as if presenting the scene to her, he told her how he solved another cold case. "Of course, I would have solved it quicker if you were here with me but...still. I solved it. I will present my findings to Gregson in the morning and another injustice will have been righted, thanks to me." With a triumphant smile, he looked at her.

Neither realized that he was still holding her hand or that she had now intertwined her fingers with his. They stood like this for some time, both staring down at the mess of "crazy" on the floor. After what seemed like hours, she pulled away and announced her intention of changing into something more comfortable.

"You do that Watson. I shall order us some Chinese as I believe you are probably starving by now, considering you couldn't eat at the restaurant." She turned to smile at him before walking slowly up the stairs.

Holmes, now humming to himself, began to pick up the photos and files on the floor and put them back in the storage box, then called in the order - all Watson's favorites.

She came back down the stairs again, this time wearing one of his shirts and a pair of shorts. When he saw her his heart stopped. He had never seen her wear his shirt before and the result left him speechless. She caught him staring.

"I'm sorry Sherlock. I didn't do wash and just needed something comfortable to wear right now. I hope you don't mind." He slowly shook his head, not saying anything. He left the room with the box of files, acting as if he had to put them away, but really just to try to calm his heart rate. He could swear she could hear his heart beating from across the room.

Watson curled up on the couch, pulling his shirt against her, holding it close to her face. She didn't want to admit it, but she put on his shirt because it smelled like him. After such a bad night, she craved the familiarity of home - and of Holmes. He was home to her. She would never tell him that or even admit it out loud to herself but that's what he was.

She thought back over the last several dates she had had. The guys were nice and all (not counting tonight's date) but they were boring. Each time she felt her mind wandering back to Holmes and the Brownstone. Each time she wouldn't wait for the date to be over so she could go home and discuss the latest case with Sherlock or argue over some insane theory that he came up with earlier that day.

The doorbell rang, interrupting her daydream, and, not seeing Holmes anywhere around, she got up and answered the door. It was their takeout. She paid the delivery guy and yelled to Holmes that dinner had arrived. They ate in easy companionship, Holmes, sitting on the couch, watching seven different programs and Watson, sitting on the floor by his feet pretending to watch at least one of them but not really.

She finally stood up to take the empty containers back to the kitchen. When she got back he was still on the couch, immersed in his TV programs - or at least pretending to be. She stood at the entrance to the room, quietly leaning against the wall, and stared at the back of his head. After several minutes, she walked slowly toward him and then stepped directly in front of him, looking down at him. The first thing he saw were her bare legs. Then he slowly looked up at her. Noticing a sadness in her face, he immediately shut off all of the televisions. The room fell silent. He stared at her, waiting for...something. He wasn't sure what. She looked like she wanted to say something but couldn't.

"Watson?" he asked. "Is everything ok?"

She just kept staring down at him. His hair was disheveled and he hadn't shaved in a couple days. The look suited him. She had the sudden urge to reach down and run her hands through his hair and across his stubble. It took all her willpower not to do it.

"It's you," she said quietly.

Swallowing hard, Holmes looked her. She had discovered the part he played in her bad night. He knew she would figure it out eventually. She was, after all, a consulting detective, trained by the best.

"You're the reason why I can't find anyone. Why my dates don't go beyond the first dinner or movie."

Again, he swallowed. "Watson, I can explain. I assure you..."

"They're not..you," she said with a whisper, still staring down at him.

She went on, talking almost to herself more than Holmes. "They are, compared to you, boring. They are, compared to you, trite. They are, compared to you, the dullest of the dull."

Holmes continued to stare at his partner. Correction. His best friend. His companion. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Without thinking, he reached out and, placing his hands behind her bare legs, he pulled her toward him and down so that she was straddling his lap. Her hair had fallen in front of her face and he slowly pushed it behind her ears. Their foreheads pressed against each other, they stayed like that for what seemed like forever, both breathing rapidly, both afraid to move.

Heads still together, she slowly ran her hands along his arms, caressing them softly. His hands moved down her arms to her bare legs. The kiss was gentle at first. It began with a gentle caress and exploration of each other. Holmes slowly began to kiss her neck, moving back up to passionately explore her mouth. Joan's grip on his arms tightened with each passing moment. She was lost in him...in the moment...in the kiss.

And just as quickly as it began, it ended. Holmes pulled back, clearly flustered, breathing heavily. Joan looked at him, almost pleading. She couldn't understand why he stopped.

He brought his hands up to her face, holding her gently. "Watson. We can't. We can't do this." He closed his eyes as if to block her out. He was still holding her face, but his hands began to move through her hair. Before he knew it, he was kissing her again. She joined him, all the while tugging at his shirt, hanging on for dear life. With her legs now wrapped around him, she pushed him back against the couch cushions. They continued to explore each other, forgetting where they were.

"Watson. We shouldn't be doing this. We can't. We are...partners," all the while kissing her neck. "We're friends." But he couldn't stop. His head was saying one thing, his heart and body another. He suddenly realized she had removed his own shirt from his body. She hadn't said a word but her movements were clear. If there was one thing he knew for sure, Watson was certain of her own actions. Once he realized this, he stopped protesting and followed her lead. He suddenly grabbed her by the hips and lifted her off of him. Before she knew it she was on her feet, but not for long. He quickly picked up her and she wrapped her legs around him again. "Where are we going?" she whispered in his ear, trying to control her heart rate and steady her voice.

"You, my dear Watson," he whispered back, heading toward the stairs, to her bedroom, "are worth so much more than a toss on a sofa."


End file.
